Red or White
by brasskeys
Summary: Gail goes to Holly's house for dinner and accidentally pulls some skeletons out of her closet. Set sometime between 4x07 and 5x01.
1. Chapter 1

"Woah, am I in the right house? This place is _**palatial**_. Who knew being a nerd paid so well."

"Not until after residency. Even then, the mean income of a forensic pathologist varies greatly depending on years of experience, location, and position. A forensic pathologist with 20 years of experience can earn as much as $280,000 per year, but –

Gail silenced Holly with a kiss. "Why are you saying all these words," she smirked.

"So, how can you afford this place then?" Gail continued.

"Um, I inherited it."

"Are you a Kennedy or something?"

"Ha, nope, not a Kennedy. My parents. Do you want red or white?"

"What?"

"Red or white? Wine, Gail. I have, let's see… pinot noir and… sauvignon blanc."

"No, Holly – what did you say _**before**_ that?"

"I said that I inherited this house – well, the money that I used to buy this house – from my parents. They're… they died."

"Oh. I – I'm sorry."

"You didn't know," Holly shrugged. "Besides, it was a long time ago."

"What happened? I mean… if you don't mind me asking," Gail asked cautiously.

"They were murdered."

"What? Holly…"

"It's OK, Gail. I mean, it's not _**OK**_, but – like I said, it was a long time ago."

Gail paused for a moment, trying to decide whether to ask her next question.

"How long?" she asked quietly, delicately.

"Twenty-five years. I was eight."

They stood in silence for a moment, neither one knowing what to do next.

"Holly, I'm" – Gail tried – "that's" – she tried again. "I don't know what to say," she whispered.

"You don't have to say anything."

Holly gave Gail a peck on the lips and turned to check on the chicken tetrazzini that she had put in the oven 10 minutes before Gail arrived. Gail stood there – speechless, motionless – watching Holly, who had busied herself with the final preparations of their dinner, with a mixture of guilt about her own social ineptitude and awe of Holly's resilience and poise.

Holly had been cavalier, but Gail wasn't fooled. She hadn't intended to, but she had opened up old wounds, and Holly was suffering – although she was pretending that she wasn't. For the time being, Gail let her pretend, pushing herself off the counter that she'd been leaning on, stepping forward and encircling Holly's waist from behind.

"Red. Please."


	2. Chapter 2

"Who raised you?"

"My brother, Henry. He's eleven-and-a-half years older than me. My mom's sister – my aunt Lucy – she was my legal guardian. I lived with her – we both did – until Henry graduated university, and then we moved to Toronto."

"Why did you move?"

"Officially, Henry got a job here. He's a mechanical engineer and was recruited by a company here. Unofficially… we had to get away from Vancouver. We didn't have any family there, except for Aunt Lucy, and everything… reminded us. So we moved. Fresh start."

Having had several glasses of pinot noir, Holly spoke much more easily now. As she did, she whirled her glass – slowly, her eyes fixed on the crimson-coloured liquid – with the hand dangling over the arm of her brown leather couch.

Gail asked a question or offered a word or two every once in awhile, mostly letting Holly talk but wanting her to know that she was listening wholly.

"Henry… he's great. You'll like him. He's more like my dad than my brother. He was even before my p –

– before," Holly finished.

Gail picked herself up from the leather club chair adjacent to the couch and sat down at the end opposite to Holly. Holly's eyes still fixed on her wine glass, she lifted her feet off the floor and rested them in Gail's lap. Wine glass in her right hand, Gail put her left to Holly's calf and massaged lightly toward her knee then back to her ankle.

"I remember – he used to put me to bed every night. Read to me, checked under the bed for monsters, the whole nine." Holly smiled at a memory then. "There's this photo of us – he's lying in my bed with one arm behind his head, and I've fallen asleep in his armpit."

Gail smiled, too.

"I must have been having trouble sleeping – bad dreams, probably – I don't remember it that well. I don't even know who took that photo.

I had a lot of them. Bad dreams, I mean. I still have trouble falling asleep. It's like… I'm afraid for the day to end. I'm afraid of where my mind will go between the time I shut my eyes and the time I fall asleep. I can _**not think**_ about something all day, and then I lie down to go to sleep, and it's _**all**_ that I _**can think**_ about. Weird, I know."

"It's not weird," Gail said, clearing her throat. "It's a hamster. On a wheel. With Red Bull."

Holly broke her staring contest with her wine glass and looked at Gail. She smiled a half-smile – laughing for a split second – and nodded, "Yeah, exactly."

And then it was gone. "They're dead, Gail… I still can't believe that they're dead."

Gail saw Holly's face go pale and swiftly set down her wine glass and slid across the couch, catching Holly as her whole body collapsed toward the coffee table and pulling her into an embrace. Holly's wine glass hit the floor and shattered.

"It's OK, sweetheart. I've got you," Gail whispered into Holly's ear as she sobbed into the space between Gail's neck and shoulder.

"It's OK," Gail breathed over and over and over again.

Eventually, Holly started to calm down, her sobs giving way to deep breaths. Gail could tell that she was exhausted. Cradling her neck, Gail laid Holly down on the couch, and pulled a pillow underneath her head just in time to replace her hand. She stood and picked up Holly's legs, gently setting them down on the couch, then reached up to pull the blanket on the back down onto Holly.

Gail knelt down by Holly's head – removing her tear-stained glasses and placing them on the coffee table – and whispered, "I'm right here, Holly. Just sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Bold italics_** = Gail's inner monologue

* * *

Gail made sure that Holly was truly, deeply asleep before she picked herself up from her spot on the floor in front of the couch. She had been sitting there, knees to her chest, arms entwined around, for 20, 30, 40 minutes. She had lost track of time, and she didn't want to chance waking Holly by turning around to look at the clock above the credenza.

Gail padded into the kitchen in search of cleaning supplies. Standing in front of the abundance of cupboards in Holly's kitchen, Gail realised that she had no idea where people typically kept cleaning supplies. She started opening and closing cupboards, playing a game of her own weary invention.

**_OK Gail, where would you be if you were the glassware? Wait, no, I saw Holly get two glasses out of… THAT cupboard… earlier tonight. Hmmm, cutlery? Got it. First try. Cereal bowls? Easy peasy. Let's up-level this game a bit. Where would you be if you were Holly's secret stash of junk food?_** Gail paused, scrutinising all of the cupboards before a small, high one caught her eye. **_Ha! My god, Holly, did you buy ALL the chocolate at Loblaw's? I knew she had a sweet tooth but holy cow._**

Having been through all of Holly's kitchen cupboards – well, all bar one – Gail had worked out where the cleaning supplies were. **_Under the sink. Huh._**

First, Gail picked up the small dustpan and broom and tiptoed back to the living room. She knelt down and picked up the large fragments of Holly's wine glass, setting them aside so that she could sweep the smaller ones into the dustpan. After the glass had been disposed of, Gail read all of the bottles and packages under Holly's sink. Finally, she found a canister of wipes – **_For hardwood floors. Bingo!_** – that she used to mop up the puddle of pinot noir.

The last thing – and she was nervous about this part – she had to do something about the ruby red stain on Holly's expensive-looking rug. She stood there for a moment with her hands on her hips, thinking. She thought about texting someone to ask, but she knew that none of her friends would know, and she was NOT going to call her mother. _**Google! Duh, Gail.**_ A quick search supplied the answer: distilled vinegar mixed with equal parts water. Gail poured some vinegar – _**Next to the ketchup? Odd.**_ – with tap water and poured it over the stain, covering it with a damp cloth. _**Thank god THAT'S over with.**_

Having cleaned up from the clean-up, Gail tiptoed back to the living room to check on Holly. **_Still asleep. Good._**

Gail found an extra blanket and covered herself with it as she settled herself in the oversized leather club chair that she had been sitting in earlier. She lifted her legs, set them on the coffee table, took one last look at Holly, and tried to go to sleep. **Holly…**

* * *

*Loblaw's = a Canadian supermarket chain


	4. Chapter 4

_**Bold italics**_ = Holly's inner monologue

* * *

Holly woke with a start – disoriented and uncomfortable, having slept in her clothes. She had a slight hangover – her head ached and her mouth was dry. Holly picked herself up and started toward the refrigerator. _**Water.**_ Memories of last night brought her to a halt. Her hypothalamus would have to wait.

Remembering, she turned. _**Gail.**_

Gail was asleep in Holly's leather club chair, her head having fallen to the arm, her right hand underneath, her legs curled to the side opposite her head. Holly stared at her for a moment, watching Gail's chest rise and fall as she breathed.

Holly smiled – shyly, despite being the only one awake – and padded toward Gail. She knelt in front of the chair and reached out to stroke Gail's cheek.

Holly waited as Gail regained consciousness, her eyes fluttering open and finally meeting Holly's.

"You're still here," Holly smiled.

Gail lifted her head and nodded, an emotional charge passing between them.

"Come on," Holly said, lightening the moment. "Let me make you some breakfast."

"Um… yeah, OK –

– if it's got coffee in it."

* * *

Holly stared into her fridge, looking for inspiration. _**Pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes. Pancakes make everything better.**_

* * *

They had eaten in silence – a comfortable one filled with the sounds of home. The drip, drop, trickle of the coffee maker, the hiss of the pancake batter meeting the hot griddle, the pop of the syrup top, the scrape of stainless steel forks against porcelain plates.

After finishing – Holly had eaten three pancakes, Gail four – they stood at the sink together. Holly washed and rinsed, Gail to her right with a tea towel in her hands, waiting to dry.

"Thank you," Holly chimed in. "For last night."

"Holly… don't. Please don't thank me," Gail implored. "It was my fault that you were upset," Gail said, turning her eyes away.

Holly stopped what she was doing, rinsed the soap off of her hands, and turned her whole body toward Gail. Water dripped from her hands onto the wooden floor. She spoke to Gail's side, knowing not to push too hard – that she would look back if and when she was ready.

"No, Gail. It's not your fault. People ask me about my parents all the time – where they live, what they do… and every time I have to snap back into orphan-mode and tell them that I don't have parents.

Not anymore," Holly added quietly.

"Then, whoever it was that asked mutters the requisite 'I'm sorry' and changes the subject. They don't want to know any more. It makes them nervous.

I don't blame them," Holly shrugged.

"I do like talking about my family, though. I mean, for better or worse, I am who I am because of them. And sometimes I do need to talk about the darker stuff… revisit it. Most of the time, I keep it locked away. Last night… it felt good – it felt good to just… let go."

"Thank you for listening, Gail – **really listening to me** – and thank you for staying."


	5. Chapter 5 (Part 1 of 2)

_**Recap: Holly invited Gail over for dinner and confided in her that her parents were murdered when she was eight years old. She became very upset when she was telling Gail about her family. Gail comforted her but blamed herself for Holly's pain, because she had opened the door to the conversation. Gail slept over and, over breakfast, Holly tried to alleviate Gail's guilt and thanked her for staying.**_

_**From here on, bold italics = Gail's inner monologue**_

* * *

Gail's iPhone vibrated in the side pocket of her blue uniform cargo pants. She lifted the top of the pocket – the velcro ripped apart softly – and reached in.

The screen had already gone black, so she pressed the home button. There was a new notification – a text message from "Lunchbox."

_Just finished for the day. Bodies all tucked in for the night. Dinner? Could swing by and pick you up?_

Gail slid her finger across the bottom of the screen and tapped her reply.

_Thanks… but I still have some paperwork to do. I could meet you at your place in about an hour… pick up Chinese on my way?_

Gail didn't return Holly's banter about the bodies. She couldn't. Not when she was being dishonest with her. Gail pressed the sleep button on her phone and laid it face-down on the top shelf of her locker.

Gail's shift had ended 15 minutes ago, and she had already filed her paperwork. She did have some research to do, though.

Chris, Andy, Dov, and Chloe had retired to The Penny; Traci had gone home to Leo. Everyone else had cleared out, too, except for a few hangers-on – specifically, the group of two or three guys who hung around the locker room for an hour after shift. _**Ugh – metrosexuals. Even Dov spends less time in front of the mirror than these guys.**_

Gail took her time changing out of her uniform, but she was able to draw that out for only so long. She was trying to look like she had some reason – other than the real one – to be hanging around the station. Out of ideas, she got herself a can of soda and a bag of cheese puffs from the vending machines.

Eventually, _**finally**_, she had the squad room to herself – mostly. The detectives were too busy solving real crimes to bother – or even notice – Gail. She sat down at one of the computers, setting her soda can to the right of the monitor and dropping her bag of cheese puffs to the left of it. Gail always kept her cheese puffs, chips, whatever, to her left. After Frank had reprimanded her a handful of times for leaving orange dust and crumbs all over the keyboard, she had devised – and perfected – the Gail Peck Eat-and-Type Method.

Tonight, however, Gail was not interested in cheese puffs.

She opened the police database and entered her password then her search term, "Stewart." That was all she had, since Holly had not mentioned her parents' first names the other night. Gail hit the enter key and scanned the results. About 3/4 of the way down the screen, she found it – the police report of Holly's parents' murders.

Gail took a breath – _**do I really want to see this?**_ – and double-clicked. Their names were Thomas and Julia Stewart. _**Thomas and Julia; Henry and Holly.**_ There was an address in Vancouver. Thomas was 44; Julia, 42. Married. Both caucasian. Thomas had brown hair, brown eyes – _**just like Holly**_; Julia, blonde and blue. Both of normal weight. Tall – especially Holly's dad. Nothing unusual so far.

Gail skimmed down. There were some things that she didn't understand – liver colour: purple. _**That's normal, right?**_ She continued skimming until something caught her eye. It was Holly's name.

"Witness to injury or illness and death," Gail read aloud. _**Oh my god, Holly. You were there.**_

Gail winced but continued reading. She had to know. Manner of death: homicide. Probable cause of death: craniocerebral haemorrhage. Gail didn't know what that meant, but the next line required no explanation – due to: gun shot to the head.

Gail's head dropped. She shook it from side to side in denial. _**Holly.**_ When Gail looked back up at the screen, her eyes landed on something that she had missed before – Holly's parents were attorneys. _**So that's where she got her smarts. And her money.**_

Gail navigated back to the search results. Below the police report were the crime scene photographs. Again, she paused before opening them, but she could not stop now.

Even after five years on the job, what Gail saw hit her like bombshell. Holly's parents each had a single gunshot wound in the centre of their foreheads. Their throats had been cut – postmortem, she guessed, based on the cause of death stated on the police report.

Gail had learned from Holly that a cut to the throat is almost always – and almost instantly – fatal. She hadn't admitted it to Holly, but Gail loved listening to her think out loud as she examined a body.

The most shocking thing about the crime scene photographs, though, were not the wounds. Thomas and Julia were dressed in pyjamas and lying in bed.

"Gail, hey, I thought you might like some company while you finish your paper– Gail, what is that? What are you doing?"

Gail watched the wave of realisation break against Holly's face. Holly clapped her hand over her mouth, smothering a sound of anguish that came from deep within, a sound that hit Gail in the centre of her chest and propelled her backward.

"Holly, wait. Let me explain."

It was too late. Holly had turned and was running toward the exit. Gail spun back to the computer, closed all of the windows – the arrow jerking around the screen beneath her trembling hand – and leapt out of the chair. It crashed into the desk behind her.

* * *

_**Special thanks to Mel for giving me the idea for this chapter.**_


	6. Chapter 5 (Part 2 of 2)

_**Recap: Holly went to 15 Division to see Gail and caught her looking at crime scene photos of her parents' murder.**_

* * *

Gail watched the wave of realisation break against Holly's face. Holly clapped her hand over her mouth, smothering a sound of anguish that came from deep within, a sound that hit Gail in the centre of her chest and propelled her backward.

"Holly, wait. Let me explain."

It was too late. Holly had turned and was running toward the exit. Gail spun back to the computer, closed all of the windows – the arrow jerking around the screen beneath her trembling hand – and leapt out of the chair. It crashed into the desk behind her.

Gail sprinted after Holly. When she got close enough, she reached out and grabbed her by the elbow. Holly spun around – tears were streaming down her face – and jerked her arm out of Gail's grasp. Gail felt a crack in her chest – something that she had experienced countless times since their conversation several nights ago.

She took a breath – allowing Holly a moment to do the same – and looked around. People were staring at them. She turned back to Holly and approached her slowly, gently. She wanted to – at the very least – save Holly from a public breakdown.

Gail snuck her hand into Holly's – "please; let's talk in private" – and Holly let herself be ushered into a nearby interrogation room. Gail shut the door behind them.

They were both silent – Gail taking in the emotions on Holly's face; Holly doing her utmost to hide them.

Gail knew that inertia was the only thing keeping Holly in the room and that her window of opportunity was closing. Fast.

"I'm so sorry," Gail whispered.

Anger displaced despair, illuminating Holly's face like lightening. "Why didn't you ask me?"

The only response Gail could manage was to avert her eyes in shame.

"If you wanted to know about my…" Holly's voice faltered. She couldn't speak the rest. She dropped her head on a sigh, and tried to compose herself, tapping her fingers against her thigh.

She lifted her head and tried again, "Why didn't you ask me?"

A tear slipped from the corner of Gail's eye. "Holly, I… I couldn't. You were so upset the other night."

"I'm upset _**now**_."

"I know," Gail exhaled, her eyes falling with her breath. "I couldn't make you relive it. After the other night…" – her voice faded – "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I caused you any more pain."

"Well, you did. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you for it."

Holly reached past Gail for the door handle. Gail knew better than to try to stop her this time. Holly threw the door open and ran out of the station.

* * *

_**Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Thank you all for sticking with me!**_


	7. Chapter 6 (Part 1 of 2)

The metal eyelets of Gail's boots clinked as she stomped up the front steps of the house. She reached for the doorbell – her finger touched stone, wood, and finally the plastic of the small, circular doorbell. She pressed it again and again – like machine-gun fire – then curled her hand into a fist and banged on the door.

It opened as her fist made contact, and she almost fell through to the entrance hall. She stumbled forward – her ankles hit the metal threshold – but caught herself before she fell to the floor. A pair of eyes watched her stabilise herself with the help of the door frame and straighten up. Gail's eyes flickered up and connected with them.

"Why didn't you teach me to be good person?"

"Gail, what do you want? It's late."

"What I want… is to know why you taught me everything about being a good cop… but nothing about being a good person."

Superintendent Peck scanned her daughter from head to toe – hair tousled, eyes bloodshot, clothes rumpled. She was breathing alcohol into the space between them and swaying from foot to foot.

"Gail, come inside the house." Elaine took hold of Gail's arm.

Gail jerked it out of her mother's grasp, losing her balance in the process. She stumbled sideways into the wrought iron railing and seized it with her right hand. She pushed herself upright and glared at her mother.

"I don't want to come in. I want you to answer my question."

"Come in off the porch. You'll wake the neighbours."

Gail listed from side to side like a boat in rough waters but was otherwise rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on her mothers'. Elaine saw something in them underneath the blank stare of inebriation. Anguish. Torment.

She softened and tried again, "I will answer your question. Come on, Gail. Come inside. Please."

* * *

Elaine returned to the living room with two mugs of tea. Realising that her daughter might have fallen asleep – Gail had flopped into one of the couch cushions, let her head fall back, and closed her eyes – she quietly set down one of the mugs on the glass coffee table in front of her daughter. She lowered herself into the chair adjacent – Gail signalled her consciousness with a groan – and wrapped her hands around her own mug, taking a sip before opening the conversation.

"Do you want to tell me what happened? Why you are so upset?"

"No," Gail scowled, eyes still shut.

Elaine paused – she had a hunch – then tiptoed onward. Land-mines dotted the terrain.

"Is this about your forensic pathologist?"

"She's not my anything anymore." Gail lifted her head and grabbed for the mug. Some tea sloshed over the rim.

"What happened?"

"Wait…" – Gail's intoxicated brain was two steps behind – "you know about her?"

"You're my daughter, Gail," Elaine shrugged.

"So that gives you the right to spy on me?" Gail snapped her head toward her mother.

"You don't tell me anything. I wouldn't know anything that's happening in your life if I didn't–"

Gail interrupted by plonking her mug on the coffee table, dropping her head into her hands, and speaking through her fingers. "Oh my god… Obviously I came to the right place."

A moment later, she lifted her face back to her mother's, and her lips curled upward into a sardonic smile. It illuminated her eyes – "now I know why you never taught me to be a good person!" – and then burned out. "It's because you're not."

"That's not fair."

"Really? It's not? You ruined every relationship you ever had – even your relationships with your own children."

"And now I've done the same thing!" Gail threw up her hands in defeat and mock laughter. "Are you proud, Mom? I turned out just like you."

"No, Gail, you didn't."

"Right… sorry… how could I forget?" Gail dropped her head and shook it from side to side. "I'll never live up to you."

"No. You turned out better," Elaine said sincerely. Her voice faltered almost imperceptibly when she continued – "You are a much better person than I am, Gail."

Gail froze, her eyes still fixed on the Persian rug under her feet. She was stunned. Her mother had bounced a ball into her court.

"Evidently not." Gail swatted it away.

"What did you do that you think is so terrible?"

"I can't tell you," Gail said quietly. She picked up her mug and looked into it.

Elaine saw the shame on her daughter's face. Her hunch was proving to be correct.

"Is this about her parents?" she asked cautiously.

Gail's head snapped up. "Really, Mom? Does your espionage know no bounds?"

"Gail… everyone who applies to the Service undergoes a complete background check. You know that. And you know that cops talk. Some of the senior officers had doubts about her ability to do the job, be objective. And they were concerned that her family history could be used to taint her expert testimony, that the defense could claim bias."

"Holly can do the job–"

"–I know," Elaine cut in. "Dr. Stewart has more than proven herself. She might be the best forensic pathologist we have."

She lowered her voice, "Did you look into her parents without her permission?"

Gail stared at her mother, her mug of tea suspended just beneath her open lips. "How did you know that?"

"It's what I would have done."

Gail laughed into her mug. "I guess it's true what they say. Apple" – Gail pointed her thumb at herself – "tree" – and her index finger at her mother.

"Do you know why so many police officers end up divorced, Gail?"

Gail shrugged, pressed her lips together, and made a minute shake of her head, a sign that – to anyone who really knew her – she didn't want to know.

"We see horrible things on the job – things that civilians can't imagine even in their nightmares. And we promise to not take those things home with us. But we do. Not the gruesome details, but the methods, the habits. When someone commits a crime, we investigate. That's what we're trained to do. It's hard to unlearn that at home."

"So we treat the people we love like perps."

"In some ways, yes."

"Great." Gail plonked her mug on the coffee table and stood up. "Well, now that I'm positive that Holly's better off without me, I think I'm going to go–woah." Her head was spinning.

Elaine saw the colour drain from her daughter's face and leapt out of her chair, reaching out and catching Gail by her arms.

"Come on, Gail. Sit back down."

Gail relented, collapsing back into the couch with a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh. The room was silent for a moment apart from the soft scrape of porcelain against glass – mother and daughter each scooping up her mug and taking a slow swallow.

Elaine cleared her throat. "Have you thought about… why Dr. Stewart likes you? What you can give her?"

"What I can give her?" Gail looked at her mother with raised eyebrows. "You mean, like, access to the Peck Police Dynasty? Connections? Guaranteed promotions?"

"Gail."

"I don't know, Mom," Gail said, hands outstretched to either side of her body. "I don't have a clue what Holly saw in me. And after what I did…" she let her hands drop in conclusion.

"What happened to Dr. Stewart's parents… it's unspeakable. I assume that it had a major impact on her career choices – to become a forensic pathologist and work within the justice system. I also assume that she is drawn to you because you make her feel safe."

"How could I make her feel safe? I couldn't even protect myself–"

"–That's another one of the other reasons I think she likes you."

"Liked. So… what – she liked me because I'm weak?"

"No, Gail. Because you've been on her side."

"She doesn't know. I haven't told her."

"That doesn't mean that she doesn't know. Perhaps she senses a kindred spirit."

Gail rolled her eyes.

"Have you thought about telling her?"

"Yeah… But I didn't want her to feel like she had to shower me with sympathy."

"Is that how you felt when you found out about her parents? Like you had to shower her with sympathy?"

"No," Gail whispered.

Gail lifted her mug in front of her face and took a loud sip of tea, silently digesting her mother's point. Elaine took a loud sip of her own, letting her daughter take cover.


End file.
